


In which Gabrielle meets Marjorie

by Whit Merule (whit_merule)



Series: Puppy love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Crack, F/F, Fem!Sam, Fluff, Genderbending, fem!Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whit_merule/pseuds/Whit%20Merule
Summary: “… Um. Gabrielle. Please stop touching my hair.”“It is not your hair now, Sammy. It is mine. I have adopted it and I shall take home and raise it as my own.”“Uh.”“Look, it loves me already. All these full gorgeous locks. It wants to be petted, don’t you, beautiful?”“… Gabrielle.”“I shall name it Marjorie.”“What?”“Marjorie and I will be very happy together.”Or, the AU in which Samantha Winchester is the shift manager at a pet store and the new hire is instantly and completely and flamboyantly in love. Possibly with Sam's hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because aria and rose inspired me to write femfluff.

Sam wasn’t in charge of new hires.

She usually sat in on the selection process anyway, because she was one of the pet store’s best shift managers, but she’d been sick that day. So the first time she met Gabrielle was, in fact, Gabrielle’s first shift.

Her first impression was _chaos_ and _spoiled brat_. This was mostly because of the combat boots, pink sweater, dangly starfish earrings, expensively curled hair, and frilly orange skirt. Also Gabrielle’s air of owning the world. _Obviously_ a family that was, financially, miles above Sam’s own, and why she was picking up day shifts in a pet store was a mystery that—

Her second impression was _oh my god why_. Because the moment she saw Sam, Gabrielle’s eyes went wide and she positively purred, “Oh, _Sappho_.”

“Sixth-century BCE poet from the island of Lesbos, bisexual, primarily known for writing love poems to her female lover,” Sam shot back. “Do you know how to clean a fish tank?”

Gabrielle clasped her hands to her fluffy pink bosom. “You know she was bisexual. You are obviously my soulmate.”

“… Gabrielle Novak, right?”

“My future wife?”

“… Okay, well. Here’s how it usually works—”

“… No, scratch that, your _hair_ is my future wife, what in hell did you do to it, why is it _so perfect_ , what even is your name?”

“Samantha Winchester, shift manager. And… uh. Nothing? I just… wash it with soap sometimes?”

“… You _what_? Okay but then you do something amazing with a curling iron, right?”

“I don’t even own a hairbrush. So, the puppies—”

“ _Oh my goodness_ I am so sorry my beautiful baby.”

“… Um. Gabrielle. Please stop touching my hair.”

“It is not your hair now, Sammy. It is mine. I have adopted it and I shall take home and raise it as my own.”

“Uh.”

“Look, it loves me already. All these full gorgeous locks. It wants to be petted, don’t you, beautiful?”

“… Gabrielle.”

“I shall name it Marjorie.”

“What?”

“Marjorie and I will be very happy together.”

“Okay. Nice as this has been, you actually do need to do some work—”

“Sssssh, Marjorie, don’t listen to the mean girl. Sammy, look, she’s curling around my wrist! It’s like a cuddle! She loves me.”

Sam opened her mouth. Then she closed it again.

“Not to be discriminatory, but. You’re actually a little bit crazy, aren’t you?”

“Crazy for _you_ , beautiful.”

“… Okay.”

Nobody ever admired Sam except as a joke. Or a blatant over-sexualisation from some dick guy. This _sounded_ like the latter which meant it had to be the former, right?

“ _Drowning_ in the _madness_ of your eyes of—actually, what colour _are_ they, get over here, I need to inspect them up close.”

Sam handed Gabrielle the inventory list for the dog foods.

“You _need_ to check our stocks for the specialised diets. We like to keep two of each kind on the shelves in each of the three sizes, plus a few sample packs, except for the weight control ones which see more use so we double the stocks of those.”

“Saaaaaammy.”

“Pencil. Paper. Go.”

“I think about you night and day.”

“You met me three minutes ago. I’m your manager.”

“You are my goddess.”

 

***

 

And that was pretty much the pattern for their next five weeks of shifts together. Gabrielle adoring, offering extravagant love confessions that completely threw Sam because there was no way that she could mean them, and she was used to giving men the cold shoulder, but this just felt different and she had no frame of reference. And, of course, Gabrielle petting Sam’s hair any time she could (and _talking to it_ ), and Gabrielle’s eclectic range of pastel-punk clothes that made absolutely no sense together except, somehow, for the fact that _she_ was wearing them.

Gabrielle, with her incessant chatter and her sly sense of humour and her complete lack of hesitation in tearing rude customers a new one, which Sam felt like she ought to check but mostly found herself admiring. Gabrielle, who made up increasingly fanciful and expensive health complaints for a puppy or a kitten to dissuade a prospective owner who clearly didn’t know what they were getting into and wouldn’t care for them right, and who did most of her jobs around the place with one of the resident babies in her arms or on her shoulder or pottering around her feet, getting them used to being relaxed and happy around humans to a degree that all Sam’s earnest, structured Acclimatisation lessons never seemed to achieve.

Sam hunched inside her baggy jeans and thift-store plaid shirts, and watched this bright erratic star from a long way off, and wondered where the kernel of that spirit had germinated.

 

***

 

“Sam, SammySamSam. I need to teach you the ways of form-fitting jeans.”

“I’m… okay. Thanks.”

“But _Saaaam_. I need to admire your butt.”

“How do you know? You’ve never seen it.”

“And isn’t that a tragedy of nations. Now. We’re going shopping after your shift. Don’t give me that look, you’re not _actually_ a puppy and take-me-home-and-cuddle me eyes won’t work. Actually, scratch that, they totally work, come home with me?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Can I blame her for _being_ trying?”

“Not in your presence, my delicious chilli-flavoured cupcake.”

“… That’s a new one. Well done.”

Was it possible Gabrielle was being _serious_?

 

***

 

Sam let Gabrielle strong-arm her into buying tighter jeans. But that didn’t mean she had to wear them. She wasn’t a total pushover.

Besides, she was starting to suspect herself of enjoying this game.

The next day they had shifts together, Sam brought out the new jeans, considered them, and put them back. Then she dug out a short(ish) skirt that she hadn’t worn in years.

When she saw her, Gabrielle _gaped_.

Then she swallowed.

Then across her face there broke a grin that made Sam’s heart sink (and maybe just beat a bit faster too).

“Hey, _girl_.”

“Gabrielle, no.”

“Do those legs go all the way up?”

“Gabrielle. Seriously?”

“My beautiful giraffe girlfriend!”

“Do you even hear yourself sometimes?”

“Not over the sound of the heart palpitations I get from the divine beauty of your eyes.”

“Like you’ve got room to talk. You’re wearing an orange and blue striped sundress.”

“… Sam.”

“With sneakers.”

“Saaaaaaaaam.”

“Which really shouldn’t work, but—”

“ _Sammy_. Can I climb you like a tree?”

“There are customers in the store.”

“Pffft, you know they only come in here for the entertainment.”

“I’m pretty sure _he_ came in here to buy cat shampoo, Gabrielle, get your butt behind the counter.”

“ _Sammy_. You notice my butt? Marjorie, she notices my butt! Hallelujah!”

 

***

 

Gabrielle was wearing knee socks. Mismatched knee socks. And a puffy purple skirt, and a sparkly crop top with a cute sulky alien on it.

It was the only bright point in a really, _really_ bad day.

Sam loved her job, she really did. She loved looking after the animals under her charge, from fish and rodents to hyper-intelligent parrots, and putting the vet degree she was working for to good use by advising anxious pet owners. But when it went bad—not just ‘having to clean up kitten diarrhoea’ bad, but ‘seriously sick babies plus seriously horrible customers’ bad—well, that got nasty.

Because this wasn’t just retail. She had a duty of care.

“Hey, Sammikins?”

Sam leaned her head against the cold storage door—in the little room behind the counter, the only place out of sight of customers—and let out all her breath.

“It’s _Sam_.”

“… Oooookay.”

Sam tipped her head, reluctantly, to see.

Gabrielle was standing behind her, with two grey fuzzy puppies squirming in her arms. She was a picture of ridiculousness and gorgeousness and… and _self_ , of a person who knew exactly who she was and was happy with that and she just made Sam ache.

Sam closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth. Because good things didn’t happen, in Sam’s life.

“So,” said Gabrielle conversationally, “I _was_ just going to say ‘can I take René and Rajah home for the night because I think he’s got a spot of kennel cough coming on and you know they can’t be split up’, but.”

Then Gabrielle was all up in Sam’s space, and before she could protest there were two squirmy happy wiggly wolfhound puppies trying to crawl up her chest to lick her face.

“ _But_ ,” said Gabrielle cheerfully, and patted Sam’s cheek, sending longing shivers of _home_ and _trust_ through her body, “I think that, A? Right now, you need puppy cuddles. B? I am going to close up fifteen minutes early, and C, that customer’s a dick and there is no way I am selling him so much as a goldfish so hey, just keep your sweet managerial _butt_ back here a moment and give yourself plausible deniability.”

And she winked.

Sam stared at her, cradling the puppies on automatic. Then she shook her head.

“Don’t,” she groaned, “don’t. Sorry, Gabrielle, but I just can’t take that today.”

Gabrielle looked at her. Then the wary shield fell down over her eyes.

And… Sam had never noticed that before.

Which was stupid. Because of course it was there. Because of course all of this was an act.

“Take what, honeybunch?” said Gabrielle, too cheerful. “My deliciously cherry-flavoured strap-on?”

It said a lot for Sam’s mood that she didn’t respond to that.

“Being teased,” she said. “Look, I know you just flirt with anyone and everything but I can only play this game so long as—”

Gabrielle gaped at her.

Then her beautifully golden eyes went very narrow, and she kicked Sam in the shins.

“I’m seeing dickface out,” she growled, which did completely unnecessary things to Sam’s insides, “then I’m closing the shop and _taking you out to dinner_ you completely irrepressible delicious amazing _flirt_ with _far too much leg_ because you have put up with me this long so you can put up with me for a couple of hours over food, okay?”

Sam carefully put her hands over the butts of the puppies climbing up toward her shoulders. Then she glared.

“I don’t do casual, Gabrielle. I’ve had enough guys look at me as—as a—and you flirt with everyone, Gabrielle—”

Gabrielle made a rude noise. Then an incredulous sort of whine. Then she rescued René, who had decided to launch herself off Sam’s shoulder.

“I flirt with _puppies_ ,” she grumbled, without looking at Sam, “not _people_. Or, you know. It’s kind of a habit? But. _You_. Saaam. Let me take you out to dinner.”

Sam blinked at the top of her head.

“You have money.”

“Um. Yes?”

“I mean, you’re born into it. Why are you working here?”

Gabrielle squinted quizzically up at her. “Because… I like it? Like you do?”

Sam hissed, and ran her puppy-free hand through her hair. “I _like_ it. And I need the cash. You don’t.”

Gabrielle blinked. “So?”

“I—”

“Your face looks stupid when it does the gaping thing.”

“ _Gabrielle_.”

“If I kissed it I wouldn’t be able to see the stupid.” Gabrielle swayed in closer, ran her hands through Sam’s hair, which was exactly where they belonged. “Don’t you agree, Marjorie?”

“Gabrielle. There’s a customer at the counter.”

Gabrielle turned her head toward the counter. Then back to Sam. Then she grinned.

“Promise me dinner?”

“… Fine.”

“Okay. Hold that thought.”

 

***

 

Sam held it.

Sam came up with a lot of other thoughts, too.


End file.
